And in my pocket, there was indeed something to see: a tiny bricolage of burlap and twine, its occult pretensions emphasized by the runes and signs with which it had been inscribed.

“What’s this?” I demanded.

“A charm for your protection,” he repeated. “You have been marked by the darkest power.”

"The what?" I shook my head at his nonsense and considered tossing the trinket at his feet. But when I raised my hand I was struck by the look of apprehension on his face. I followed his gaze and saw that we were attracting attention: one of the onlookers had clambered up a lamppost for a better view; others were pointing from a rooftop nearby.

He turned his head cautiously from side to side and warned: “Nothing else stands between you and the unrequited!”

The man stepped into view. “You are spellbound,” he explained. “Your friend has bestowed an evil charm.” He nodded to the cultists, bobbing and whirling ecstatically on the other side of the street. “He wants for you to join them.”

I held up the totem, and his eyes narrowed. “You must repudiate that accursed thing without delay—”

The other was aghast. “For the love of God,” he pleaded, “cover your ears to this deceit—”

And he explained: “To accept the need for protection is to affirm the devil’s power over you. To repudiate his charm is to affirm his power to undermine you. It is better that you laugh at these manoeuvres."